


i never told a lie to you, so why would i start tonight?

by brandonsaad (createadisaster)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-02 01:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10934556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/createadisaster/pseuds/brandonsaad
Summary: Johansen looks past him into the hallway for a moment, then back at his face. “What do you want?”“I want to bend you over the dresser in there and make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you better than anyone else ever has,” says Kesler, watches Johansen’s eyes go wide. Honesty is the best policy.





	i never told a lie to you, so why would i start tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> look. this just. this all happened so fast. i love both of these gross ryans so much, and their weird hate flirting through the media turned to this. am i proud i wrote this? of course not. am i surprised i wrote this? of course not.
> 
> thank you to jay for chatficcing this with me, and to lil for betaing once jay fell asleep. thank you to everyone who reads this and loves me anyway.

Johansen gets him in the mouth with a high stick. He skates to the box, sends Kesler a tight-lipped glare, and Kesler ignores the pain, focuses on that expression, and laughs.

“Fuck you,” Johansen spits during their last faceoff of the game. Kesler knows how it feels to be losing like this, to score, to play your heart out, to go into the final moments knowing it won’t be enough and you’ll lose anyway. He laughs.

There’s always been something satisfying about being hated. No, really. He knows who he is, and how people feel about him. After the game, high off winning, he gets a text from a buddy, saying he’ll come to games and cheer no matter what Ryan Johansen says. He looks up the quote, and he laughs.

Of course the kid hates him. That’s his thing; he’s someone to hate. He’s an easy target, and it’s fun for him. Johansen is young, and he’s got some anger and some fire in him. Kesler doesn’t mind being the one to get under his skin, get him all pissy and petulant. 

He’d headbutted him during a faceoff. Did it even count as a headbutt if it was more of a gentle bump? Was it supposed to be intimidating? It had just been adorable. 

“He just blows my mind,” Johansen had said. Goddamn right, he does. “I’m just trying to go out there and play hockey.” The kid talks like Kesler’s hurt him personally, goes after him specifically, instead of just plays the way he’s always played. 

But fuck, he’s always been weak for someone a little bratty, a little bitchy. He reads the quote and can practically hear the pout. Kesler likes pouty, always has.

The series is tied. He knows where visiting teams stay. He looks at his phone, reads the quote again, and makes a decision.

-

“What the _fuck_ , Kesler?” Johansen asks when he opens the door. His face is all scrunched up, a mix of surprise and annoyance. He’d been questioning his decision during the walk down the hall, but now, looking at this kid with his stupid haircut, ugly gray sweats, and a hideous bro tank top with a fucking pocket, he’s more confident than ever. 

 

Johansen is gross and kind of an idiot. Kesler wants to break him in half.

“Just seemed like you were thinking a lot about me, pretty,” he says. “Can I come in?”

Shock flicks over Johansen’s face for a second, then he curls his lip. Kesler wants to bite it, and he doesn’t make any attempt to disguise it. He glances at Johansen’s mouth just long enough to make it obvious, then smiles, meets his gaze again.

“You can’t come in,” he says, unconvincing, uncertain. He looks at Kesler’s mouth; Kesler follows his eyes and the smile turns to a smirk.

“Then let’s chat right here,” he says, leans against the door. There’s plenty of room to close it, if Johansen wants to. He can stop playing this game whenever he likes. Kesler only wants to win if Johansen wants to play.

Johansen looks past him into the hallway for a moment, then back at his face. “What do you want?” 

“I want to bend you over the dresser in there and make you watch in the mirror while I fuck you better than anyone else ever has,” says Kesler, watches Johansen’s eyes go wide. Honesty is the best policy. “What do _you_ want?”

“What?” he asks, and Kesler loves throwing him off balance.

“What I _want_ , Johansen, is to make you beg for it,” he says again, patient, like he’s explaining something complicated. He isn’t stepping any closer, leaves plenty of room for Johansen to slam the door. He’s positive that he won’t.

Johansen snorts, like he’s trying to feign indifference. His cheeks are pink.

“You think you wouldn’t, lovely?”

“Not for you,” Johansen says, automatic, like his first reaction is to fight. Kesler can work with that. Kesler’s got the same instinct.

“I think you would,” he says, staying quiet, and Johansen leans in a little bit to hear. “I think you get off on hating me, and the moment you let me touch you, you won’t be able to get enough.”

“You’re a dick,” Johansen says, and his voice is a little shaky.

Kesler shrugs. “Yeah,” he says, unapologetic, a little amused. “And you’re already fucking gagging for it, so how about you let me in and shut the door.”

“You really think I’m going to let you fuck me after that game?” Johansen asks, crosses his arms. It covers up the stupid design on the tank top and shows off the definition in his arms at the same time. Kesler takes a second to appreciate his biceps before he looks back at him.

“Yeah,” he says again, because he does. “Or would you rather have my mouth? Pretend I’m making it up to you?”

That seems to catch him off guard. “You want to blow me?” he asks. Kesler loves those words from that mouth.

“I told you,” he says, smiles pleasantly, “I want you to beg.”

“I’m not going to beg,” Johansen says, stubborn.

Kesler can work with stubborn. “Okay,” he says, unbothered. “Do you want me to leave, then?”

Johansen squints. Opens his mouth, closes it again. “I’m not going to beg,” he says again, and steps back to let him in.

“We’ll see, princess,” Kesler says, amused, takes a step into the room and glances around. It’s like every other hotel room he’s ever been in, except Ryan Johansen is there, scowling, shutting the door, and tugging his tank top off over his head.

Kesler shoves him against the door and kisses him; Johansen fists his hands in his collar and tugs him in closer, impossibly closer. He kisses as recklessly and completely as he plays, like he wants to knock the wind out of him, and it’s exactly what Kesler wanted. 

Johansen works a hand down between them to palm at his dick through his game day suit, a bit of unexpected initiative. Kesler lets out a little moan despite himself, bites at Johansen’s lip, then angles his hips away, gets a little distance.

“Slow down,” Kesler murmurs, presses kisses down from his mouth, along his jaw, bites at the crook of his neck. He’s going to leave marks, going to make Johansen remember this. Make sure that he’s the last thing he thinks about before he goes to sleep and the first thing he thinks of in the morning. He’s the one who needs to slow down, probably, but he’s still worked up from the win, from the game, from the conversation at the door. He doesn’t want to slow down.

“No,” says Johansen, moves his hands to his hair and yanks him back to a kiss, gets to work unbuttoning his shirt. He gets the buttons open, starts to shove it off his shoulders, and Kesler takes his wrists in his hands, pins them against the door. 

They lock eyes, and Kesler smiles.

“You started this,” Johansen says. His lips are red. Kesler can feel his cock, hard against him through those ratty sweats. “Fucking do it, then. Suck my dick.” Kesler starts grinning, and Johansen shakes his head. “I’m not begging. I’m telling you.”

“Sure you are, baby,” says Kesler, “Right here? Against the door? Do you want somebody walking past to hear, to know exactly what I’m doing to you in here?”

His face gets redder. Kesler squeezes his wrists and watches him suck in a breath, lean his head back. “No,” he says, “On the bed.”

“You deserve a bed now, princess?” he asks, teasing, pushing. He wants to see how Johansen reacts, see what he can take. “Because I think you’d rather risk it. See who looks at you funny in the morning, because they heard you _begging_ tonight.”

“I’m not going to beg,” Johansen says again, and kisses him hard. Kesler loves being lied to. When he lets go of his wrists, Johansen wraps his arms around his neck without hesitation, half leads, half shoves him towards the bed. They nearly fall because Johansen won’t get his tongue out of his mouth.

When Johansen shoves him down on the bed and straddles his hips, Kesler props himself up on his elbows and looks up at him. “You’re not fucking my face, man,” he says, “You want your dick sucked, you gotta let me be on top.”

Johansen actually looks a little flustered. It makes Kesler wonder, just for a second, what kind of sex he’s been having, if he’s not used to people just saying what they want—but Johansen’s history isn’t his problem. What he cares about is right now, and right now, Johansen is shifting off him, sitting up against the headboard.

“Like this?” he asks, a little hesitant, then, bolder, “Like this.”

Kesler grins at him and sits up. “Just like that, pretty,” he says. “Take your pants off.” Johansen hooks his fingers in the waistband, starts to shove them down. “Slowly,” Kesler adds, quickly, just wants to see if Johansen will be obedient.

He glares at him, face hardening into that same penalty box pout, but he lifts his hips and eases his sweats down slowly, slowly, slowly. He’s not wearing anything underneath, and Kesler’s grin widens.

“Good boy,” he says, and watches Johansen let out a shaky breath, the rise and fall of his chest. He kicks his sweats the rest of the way off, lets them fall abandoned to the floor. His dick rests against his stomach now, kind of bigger than Kesler expected, longer. Thin, uncut, pretty.

He wants it in his mouth, he really does, but he’s a goal-oriented kind of guy. Johansen’s gonna have to ask nicely. He leans over him to kiss him again, settles with a knee on either side of his lap, spreads his palms flat on his ribcage. 

“Good boy,” he repeats, softer, and straightens up a little, makes Johansen tilt his head back and reach to keep their lips together. It’s so satisfying the way he moves, the way he’s following where Kesler leads. He’s going to push that as far as he can.

He kisses down his throat, brings his hands up to play with his nipples. When Johansen whimpers, a tiny, sweet sound, Kesler rewards him with a soft kiss to the lips. He pinches a little, twists one of Johansen’s pretty pink nipples between his fingers.

“Yes,” Johansen gasps, like he can’t keep it in. That’s exactly what Kesler wants, so he does it again, ducks his head to kiss and then bite the other. He catches it with his teeth, closes his eyes. Johansen’s got his hands on his shoulders, under his shirt, and his grip tightens when Kesler’s does. “Oh, fuck, like that.”

“You’re sensitive, aren’t you,” murmurs Kesler, shifts his attention on the other, presses an open mouthed kiss before taking it in his teeth. Johansen shudders as a response, wraps one leg around Kesler. He shifts down, kisses his chest, follows the light trail of hair, dips his tongue into his belly button. He’s got a mole just below his ribcage. It’s cute, so Kesler kisses it, too.

“Quit _teasing,_ ” Johansen says, not quite a whine. He pushes on Kesler’s shoulders, and Kesler straightens up, raises an eyebrow at him.

“You think you get to push me, Johansen?” he asks, and brings a hand to his throat, angles his head up to look at him. Johansen casts his gaze down. Kesler’s momentarily distracted by his eyelashes.

“Joey,” he says.

“What?” Kesler asks, surprised. He drops his hand, sits back a bit onto his thighs.

“Call me Joey,” he says. “If you’re going to fuck me, you have to call me my name.”

Kesler starts smiling. “I’m going to fuck you?”

“Shut up,” he says, cheeks flushing red. God, Kesler wants to see how far down his chest that flush will go. “You knew I was gonna say yes.”

“I didn’t,” says Kesler, honest, touches his face, presses his thumb against his lips. Johansen—Joey—opens his mouth, lets him push in a little. He closes around it, hollows his cheeks a little, flicks his gaze back to Kesler. He looks so goddamn beautiful. “Joey,” he says, gentle. 

Joey shuts his eyes. Those fucking eyelashes.

He pulls his hand away. He has to. 

“Yes,” says Joey. “For the record, Kesler. _Yes._ ”

Kesler doesn’t tell him to call him anything else. He leans down and kisses him again, crashes their lips together. He drops his hands to Joey’s hips and tugs them up to grind against his own. Joey lets out another little whimper, wraps his arms around his neck. 

“Come on,” he whispers, “You said you were gonna blow me, come _on_ —”

“I also said you were gonna beg,” Kesler says, bites his lower lip, grips him tighter.

Joey groans and tugs at his hair, whispers in his ear. “Make me,” he says, and it is the perfect thing to say.

Kesler pulls away from him, savors the little sound of protest he makes, and scoots back on the bed, settles between his legs. He rests his hands on his thighs and then pushes just a little, and Joey spreads them just as he wanted him to. “Good boy,” he says, because it seems like Joey likes to hear it, and kisses the inside of his thigh. He’s pale and soft here, and Kesler bites, sucks a bruise and sits back a little to admire his work.

“What’s your fucking hickey thing, man, we’re not sixteen,” says Joey, and Kesler looks up at him. He’s flushed red and a little sweaty. Kesler thinks he’s way too coherent.

“I want you to feel me on you tomorrow,” he says, deliberate, presses his hands tight against his thighs. “I want you to be fucking covered in me.”

Joey’s eyes go wide. “Oh,” he says, and Kesler can actually see his cock twitch. “I—yeah. Yeah, okay, uh. Do that.”

Kesler takes the permission and runs with it, returns to work, kisses and licks and bites at his inner thighs until Joey’s scrabbling at his shoulders, gasping, rolling his hips up to meet Kesler’s mouth. His cock is red and hard and completely, beautifully neglected.

“ _Please_ ,” Joey finally gasps, and Kesler looks up at him sharply. 

“Please what,” he says, takes his balls in his hand, plays with them a little. Joey jerks beneath him, clenches his hands down on him. 

“Please suck my dick,” he says, red, “Come on, I want it, you said you would— _please_ —”

Kesler rewards good behavior. He takes his dick in his mouth, doesn’t ease into it, swallows as much as he can. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Joey gasps, thrusts up into his mouth, and Kesler chokes, pulls off. 

“None of that,” he says, coughs a little. “Don’t make me hold you down, Joey.”

Joey looks at him, a little wild eyed.

“—Do you want me to hold you down?” Kesler asks, and Joey opens his mouth, closes it again. “Because I can, baby. You’ve just gotta ask nicely. If you need my help to be a good boy, that’s okay.”

“I don’t need your help,” he says, and there’s that fire again. That cute, bitchy fire. “I can be good.”

Kesler grins at him and gets back to work, takes the head of his dick into his mouth, circles it with his tongue. Joey’s hips jerk up, just a little, and Kesler glances up at him again. 

“I can be good,” Joey repeats, insistent, like he’s trying to convince himself. Kesler believes him, takes a little more, wraps his hand around the base of his shaft. 

He’s always loved sucking dick, the weight of a cock on his tongue, the thick scent of sex and man. He keeps one hand on Joey’s thigh and the other alternating between jerking him off and playing with his balls. When he moans around him, Joey whimpers. Kesler realizes all at once that Joey’s getting off on Kesler enjoying it as much as he is on his mouth. It’s gratifying.

Also gratifying is the fact that Joey clearly is fighting to keep himself quiet, well behaved. The work he’s putting into being good for him is almost as hot as the ways in which he’s failing, letting little moans sneak through, rocking his hips up even though Kesler told him not to.

“Oh, _fuck,_ ” he blurts, when Kesler pulls off his dick and noses under his balls to lick him there, spreads him open with his hands and presses his tongue, real light, against his hole. “Oh, oh my god, Kesler, that’s—”

He goes quiet suddenly, muffled, and when he pulls back to look at him, he’s got his hand in his mouth, biting down to keep himself quiet. Kesler decides to let him have it for a moment, laves his tongue over his asshole and jerks him off lightly, slowly, but when Joey makes a loud, high pitched sound even into his bitten hand, he has to pull back again.

“Baby, that’s cheating,” he says, knows how red his own mouth must be, is sure his hair’s a disaster from where Joey had been pulling. “Talk to me, princess.”

“Your fucking _beard,_ ” Joey blurts, gets his hands back in Kesler’s hair and tries to push him back down, “Please keep going, please, I need more—”

Kesler lets himself be pushed, a little, licks at his cock again. “Need more what, baby?” he murmurs, reaches a hand between Joey’s legs, presses at him a little bit, slick with his spit. “What do you need?”

Joey whimpers rather than speaks, tries to push back against his hand. Kesler just fucking knew he was going to be like this, he _knew_ it. 

“What do you need?” he asks again, presses in the tip of his finger, revels in Joey’s moan. 

“Please,” Joey tries, but it’s not enough, Kesler pulls his hand away, sits up a little. “Please, I need your—I want you to—”

Kesler’s got condoms and a travel sized bottle of lube in his pocket, because, honestly, he knows what he’s about. He pulls the lube out and laughs when Joey’s face gets incredulous. 

“You seriously brought—I wasn’t _that_ sure of a thing!” he protests. 

He shrugs, snaps the bottle open and dumps a generous amount on his fingers, presses them back against him. “You literally just let me put my tongue in your asshole,” he says, circles his hole, gets him nice and wet.

“I—I think that says more about you than it does me,” Joey manages, and then gasps when Kesler presses a slick finger into him. “Oh, oh, shit. That’s really—”

“If you can say anything but _yes, please_ , I’m not doing this right,” says Kesler, puts on an affectation of boredom just to watch Joey’s face scrunch up at it. He presses another finger in, then slowly draws them both out.

“Yes, please,” Joey says, because he is a very good boy. Kesler rewards him with a smile and then leans down to lick alongside his fingers, makes sure to drag his beard along his sensitive skin. “Oh, fuck, _please_ —”

Kesler wants to fuck him so bad. He drags his fingers out and fucks them back in, presses his tongue alongside them. He’s tight and hot inside, and Kesler wants to know who else has had him like this, wants everyone who’s ever made him come to line up and watch Kesler take him apart. He scissors his fingers and looks up at him. “Tell me you’re mine,” he says, knows it’s crazy but thinks Joey will be into it anyway.

“I’m yours,” he says immediately, “Oh, shit, come on, I want your cock, please—”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I knew you had it in you, pretty,” he murmurs, and pulls back from him. He kisses his forehead, then shifts away, gets off the bed. 

Joey’s face falls. “You’re not—you can’t leave,” he says, and Kesler reaches for him immediately, pulls him up and off the bed, gathers him up in his arms.

“I’m not,” he says, runs his hands down his back, grips his ass. “Remember what I said I wanted?”

Joey looks at him, searching, then steps away. Kesler watches him carefully, and he leans over the dresser, hands on the edge, and looks back over his shoulder at Kesler. “Like this?” he asks, and it is a question this time, he doesn’t even pretend it’s not.

Kesler trails a finger down his spine, spreads his palm flat over his ass, then carefully finds his hole again, crooks a finger inside him. Joey moans, open and unashamed. “Just like this, sweetheart,” Kesler murmurs. The angle is different. He wonders if Joey feels different. “You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you.”

“Please,” Joey says, quiet, “Please, fuck me.”

Kesler pulls his hand away, kneels behind him instead. Joey makes a little noise of protest, but Kesler spreads his ass open with his hands, feels him shudder under his grip. “I will, baby,” he murmurs, “You’ve just gotta be patient a little longer.” He licks into him, and Joey whimpers, falls from his hands to his elbows, arches his back to press back against Kesler’s face. He doesn’t know who else has had him like this, but they certainly trained him well. 

His ass is red and raw when he finally straightens up, unzips his pants, pulls his dick out. He’s been rock fucking hard since Joey first slid his sweats down and off, and he can’t hold back a moan when he jerks himself off a little.

“ _Fuck_ me,” Joey says, turns his head over his shoulder and glares a little. “I swear to god, Kesler, if you don’t get your dick in me—”

“Ask nicely,” Kesler says mildly, rolls a condom on, spills some more lube into his hand. Gets himself nice and wet, tilts his head back a little to give Joey a show while he does. 

“Please,” Joey says, turns back away, drops his head down. “Please, Kesler, _please_ fuck me.”

“There’s a good boy,” says Kesler, and lines up, presses in. Joey makes a beautiful, broken sound. He wants to hear it again, so he pushes farther, until he’s got his hips up against his ass. “Jesus Christ, you’re—you feel amazing, Joey.”

“What the fuck, you’re fucking huge,” Joey mumbles, drops from his hands to his elbows on the dresser. “What the _fuck_ , I was so sure you were compensating for something—”

That startles a real laugh out of him, a deep belly laugh, as he slowly pulls out, starts to get a rhythm. “I’ll show you compensating,” he says, leans down to press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“That’s not hot, Kesler,” Joey says, “Oh, fuck, _there_ —”

He lets out another little laugh, stands up straight and fucks into him, slow and steady, keeps a hand pressed on his back. Joey sounds like something out of a bad porn, moaning and pleading, and it’s fucking spectacular, he never wants it to stop. 

“Please, fuck, keep going—” Joey’s talking and talking, a litany of ‘please’ and ‘more’ and every now and then a really just fantastic ‘Kesler,’ and Kesler can’t remember the last time he fucked somebody like this. He’s pliant under his hands, keeps pressing back against him like he can’t get enough.

“Thought you weren’t going to beg,” Kesler mutters, grips his hips and shifts his angle just a little bit. Joey lets out a loud, broken moan.

“Shut the fuck up, just _fuck_ me,” he manages, “God, you’re an asshole—”

“And you fucking love it,” he says, reaches one hand up, curls it in the back of Joey’s hair and yanks his head up so he’s facing the mirror. “Fucking look at you, you’re so desperate for my cock.”

Joey does look a wreck in the mirror. He’s flushed red, his hair curling with sweat. His lips are swollen and bitten, and there’s Kesler behind him, shirt on but open, still mostly dressed, taking him apart.

“Look at you,” he says again, voice low, “Look how pretty you are.”

Joey gasps something and tries to let his head fall, but Kesler pulls his hair, slams into him. He’s quiet for the first time since they started this, breathless, letting out tiny, broken gasps. Kesler thinks he’s fucked the words out of him. He’s actually a little proud of himself.

“Say thank you,” he says, leans down, pulls him up so Joey’s back is flush against his chest. “See what I did to you? Say thank you, baby, and maybe I’ll let you come.”

Joey reaches back, digs his fingers into Kesler’s back. Kesler gets his hands on his nipples, twists them between his fingers, feels Joey arch back against him. He doesn’t say anything.

“You can’t?” he murmurs, bites his neck. “I was going to be nice, honey, touch your pretty cock. Now maybe I think I shouldn’t.”

“I—please,” Joey manages, like it’s being wrenched out of him, like it’s taken all of his energy. Kesler grins, keeps rolling his hips into him. It’s not what he asked for.

“That’s real polite,” Kesler says, licks a stripe up the side of his neck, tugs on his earlobe with his teeth. “But it’s not what I wanted to hear, is it?”

Joey’s absolutely fallen apart in his arms, and it’s taking everything Kesler has to keep himself together. He’s so hot inside, tight, wet, and Kesler fucked him pretty thoroughly with his fingers but he’s still just so fucking much. He whimpers again, doesn’t even manage a word this time.

He drags one hand from his nipple down his chest, rests just above his dick, red and bouncing against his stomach. He’s teasing him, playing with him.

“Thank you,” Joey whispers, broken, “Thank you for fucking me.”

“There’s my good boy,” he murmurs, wraps his fingers around his dick. “There’s my good, sweet boy.”

It only takes a few strokes before Joey is crying out and coming, spilling over Kesler’s hand, and just goes boneless, collapses on the dresser. 

Kesler smacks his ass, draws another little broken sound out of him. “I’m not done with you yet, baby,” he murmurs, “Straighten up. I’m almost there, lovely, just a little more.” He doesn’t slow his pace, doesn’t ease up.

“Hurts,” Joey mumbles.

Kesler does stop, then, pulls out and runs his hands to his hips, rubs a little gently. “—Good hurts or bad hurts?” he asks, smooths his hands over his back.

He waits while Joey catches his breath, then buries his face in his forearms, still bent over the dresser. His neck and shoulders are blooming with bruises; his back is a little red and splotchy. “I don’t _know_ ,” he says, and something in Kesler softens a little. 

He wraps his arms around him, pulls him up to stand, turns him around to face him. Joey’s sniffling a little, chest heaving, and Kesler kisses him on something between a whim and an instinct. “You were so good for me,” he murmurs, rests his hands real light on his hips, where he’d been gripping hard enough to bruise. 

Joey nods and presses his face into Kesler’s neck. He half leads, half carries him to the bed, sets him down real gentle. “Why are you being so nice?” Joey mumbles, stretches out. God, but he’s beautiful.

“Because you were good,” he repeats, leans over to kiss his jaw. “And because I’m hoping you’ll let me jerk off on your chest.”

Joey lets out a little noise that’s kind of a moan, kind of a laugh. “Yeah, okay,” he says, curls his hands into his hair. 

“And then I’ll clean you up,” Kesler adds, keeps kissing, down his neck, gentle, soft kisses over every bruise he’d left. “And let you sleep. Yeah?”

“Are you going to stay?” asks Joey. He sounds hopeful.

“Until I know you’re okay, at least,” Kesler says, runs a hand down his side. “I’m not leaving you alone, uh, like this. Do you want me to stay?”

Joey flushes darker, but he nods.

“Then I will.” he says, kisses his chest. “Can I—?”

He looks a little bewildered for a moment, but Kesler rolls his hips, slow and dirty. “Oh,” he says, “I—yeah. Yes. Please?”

Kesler loves it when Joey says please. He sits up on his knees and pulls the condom off, ties it and tosses it off the bed. Joey reaches for him, and half-helps him jerk off. He kind of gets in the way, but it’s so well meaning that it loops back around to hot, and he looks so sated and pleased when Kesler comes all over his chest. 

He leans down a little and smears it over him, because—honestly, who could blame him. “I knew you wanted me.” he murmurs, a little smug.

“I fucking hate you,” Joey mumbles, and rolls over.

Kesler leans down to kiss his cheek. “I don’t think you do,” he says, and gets up out of bed. “I’ll be right back, sweet boy, I’m going to get something to clean you up.”

By the time he gets back, warm washcloth in hand, Joey is already asleep. He smiles despite himself, wipes his chest off as gently as he can. Joey moans a little and shifts under his touch, and Kesler drops the washcloth off the edge of the bed, pulls the covers up over Joey.

He thinks about leaving, just for a second. Instead, he gets his clothes the rest of the way off and stretches out beside him, not touching, just there. 

Joey rolls over into him, wraps an arm around his chest, presses his face into his shoulder. 

Kesler smiles despite himself. “Fucking hate you too,” he lies, and kisses the top of his head before he goes to sleep.

-

On Tuesday, somebody asks how he reacted to Johansen’s comment. 

He thinks of the bruises he left on his hips, the pale, smooth expanse of his back bent over the dresser, the way Joey had kissed him goodbye in the morning with a little more desperation than he’d expected. He thinks of what he’s going to do to him tonight. 

“I laughed,” he says. “He’s not my friend. He’s not going to be my friend. He can say whatever he wants.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hang out with me on [tumblr](http://brandonsaaders.tumblr.com) for more nonsense

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Starting Today](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10948827) by [Amazoncowgirl01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amazoncowgirl01/pseuds/Amazoncowgirl01)




End file.
